


Before We Fell Apart

by EchoResonance



Series: Sheith Week 2k16 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, The Garrison is a university institution, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8373160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoResonance/pseuds/EchoResonance
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Keith wasn't much of a scrapper. He was in the Garrison on sheer good graces and talent; one wrong move would lose all of that. He had a thick skin, he ignored most of the jeers thrown his way. So when Shiro found him in the middle of it all, all his easy objectivity was gone. Shiro jerked him out of the fight by force, scowling down the other cadet until he ran off with his tail between his legs before dragging Keith after him with every intention of finding out what finally lit his fuse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sheith week 2k16, Day 3: Fight me/Love me

_You can’t get anyone to stick around, can you?_

Shiro stalked down the hall, towing a bruised and bleeding Keith after him.

When he’d heard that a fight had broken out in the hall, he’d expected to find a couple of punks with too much pent-up energy. It wasn’t uncommon for scuffles to break out, especially amongst the new cadets who were going just a little stir-crazy stuck in the Garrison with the nearest town a fifty-minute bus ride away. He’d meant to step in calmly and tell whoever it was to move along before one of the officers found them.

_Not even anything special—he probably had to fuck his way into the Kerberos mission._

Contrary to popular belief, Keith wasn't much of a scrapper. He was in the Garrison on sheer good graces and talent; one wrong move would lose all of that. He had a thick skin, he ignored most of the jeers thrown his way. So when he found Keith in the middle of it all, that easy objectivity was gone. Shiro jerked him out of the fight by force, scowling down the other cadet until he ran off with his tail between his legs before dragging Keith after him with every intention of finding out what finally lit his fuse.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Keith grumbled, trying to jerk away from the hold Shiro had on his wrist.

Shiro pressed his lips into a thin line and kept dragging him toward his quarters. People were staring, but they weren’t his concern.

“What were you thinking?” Shiro demanded when they turned into an empty corridor. “You’re better than this, Keith. You shouldn’t let them provoke you like that.”

“Oh bite me,” Keith snapped. “They started it—I could’ve finished it. Why’d you have to butt in, anyway?”

“You _know_ why,” Shiro growled.

He pulled them to a stop outside his room and slammed his hand over the access pad. The door hissed open and he pushed Keith inside, stepping in after him and making sure the door closed properly at their backs. When he turned to face the other boy, his frustration drained out of him all at once. Keith stood with his arms crossed, hair sticking to his forehead and tangling around his ears. His jacket hung open over his undershirt, having been yanked open in the brawl, and after a moment of deliberation he shed the article entirely and tossed it onto the trunk at the foot of Shiro’s bed.

Shiro sighed and tugged Keith over to sit on the edge of his bed. The boy went, dragging his heels the whole way, but grudgingly dropped onto the mattress. Wary should he try to bolt, Shiro cautiously released his arm so that he could retrieve the first aid kit stored in the locker at the foot of the bed. Keith didn’t move but glowered sullenly at the far wall. When Shiro returned he sat the open kit beside Keith and knelt on the floor in front of him.

“Give me your hand,” Shiro said.

His tone was soft but left no room for argument. Keith reluctantly held out his right arm for inspection. The wrist was red, the area around it a swollen and tender where Shiro gently pressed his fingers, but it wasn’t anything too severe. Ice and a couple days bandaged up would leave it good as new. He moved to Keith’s hand, ignoring the way the fingers twitched in his palm.

“Your knuckles spend more time split than not,” he said heavily. They were littered with scrapes and bruises, and not all of the blood spotting them was his opponent’s. “You should invest in some gloves.”

Above him, Keith snorted.

“Are you telling me how to protect my hands for future fights?” he said incredulously.

A small smirk tugged at Shiro’s lips.

“If anybody asks, I’ll deny that,” he said. “But it’d be good advice for training, too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you wailing on those punching bags.”

If he looked up, he knew he would find Keith blushing. Instead he reached for the first aid kit, retrieving an antiseptic wipe to clean the small injuries. Keith flinched as he treated the raw area, but he could only soften his touch so much. When he finished cleaning them, he took a roll of gauze from the kit and wrapped Keith’s hand, careful to include his abused wrist.

“Okay,” Keith said when he finished. “Can I go now?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Shiro warned. “Other arm.”

Keith pouted but obeyed. The knuckles of his left hand were quite as abused as those of his right and Shiro made short work of treating them. His wrist seemed fine, and the rest of the arm was bruised—mostly from blocking, Shiro knew. Between training with the boy and learning about injuries on his own, he had a pretty good idea of how Keith had earned those dark bruises in such precise spots. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do for bruises.

“Keith…” he murmured, touching his forehead to their joined hands. “You know how much it worries me when you do stuff like this, right?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Keith snapped, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“You usually ignore them,” Shiro said. “Why not this time?”

“They said—” Keith started, then cut himself off abruptly. When Shiro looked up at him, he’d averted his gaze to the wall behind Shiro’s head.

“They said?” Shiro prompted. Keith didn’t respond. “Was it about your parents?”

At that, at least Keith snorted.

“Please,” he scoffed. “That’d be original.”

“Then your flying?”

“Again, old news.”

“Then what was it?” Shiro couldn’t keep the hint of pleading out of his voice.

He knew why Keith was being difficult with him. Really, he understood. The boy had only just found out that he was on the mission, and it was less than a week before they left. He had every right to be upset with Shiro, both for leaving and for waiting so long to tell him. But that didn’t stop Shiro from wanting to talk to him. Wanting _him_ to talk back.

The change in his tone drew Keith’s gaze back to him reluctantly, and when they made eye contact the boy on the bed sighed, shoulders drooping. His fingers tightened in Shiro’s.

“It wasn’t…” he mumbled. “It wasn’t about...me.”

“Then _what_?” Shiro pressed, though he thought he already knew. He’d heard the other boy’s shouting, difficult though it was through the noise that always accompanied impromptu fights in hallways.

“Nothing,” Keith said. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Easier said than done,” Shiro noted. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Keith’s hand. “I’m always worried about you. Especially when you won’t talk to me.”

“There’s...there’s nothing to talk about,” Keith said unconvincingly.

He wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. Keith was shifting awkwardly on the bed, and Shiro knew that as soon as an opportunity presented itself he’d be bolting for the door. So with a heavy heart he shoved his guilty conscience to the back of his mind and tried for levity instead.

“Ow!” Keith yelped when Shiro poked an inky spot on his bicep. “H-hey, what the hell?”

Shiro snorted and leaned back from the half-hearted swipe Keith took at him, a mischievous grin splitting his face. He caught the other’s forearm and held it in front of him. Without breaking eye contact with a red-faced Keith, he brushed his lips across his injured knuckles, smirking at the sudden intake of breath that reached his ears. He continued to trail small kisses like these slowly up Keith’s arm, connecting the bruises the way astronomers connected stars to form constellations not on velvet black sky but soft, ivory skin.

“Sh-Shiro,” Keith mumbled, tugging awkwardly at his hand. “Your roommate—”

“Already knows,” Shiro finished, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Keith’s chest. “What? Am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend just because Matt might show up?”

Keith stilled.

“...Boyfriend?” he repeated.

He said it like it was a word in a foreign tongue. Shiro remembered vividly the same confused tone pronouncing the word _friend_ what felt like ages ago. He smiled and rolled back onto his heels, rising to his feet in one fluid motion that left Keith’s nose level with Shiro’s navel. With a chuckle he flopped onto the bed beside Keith and slung an arm carelessly around his shoulders, tucking his nose into the other boy’s hair.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing a hand over Keith’s upper arm. “That okay? Or would you prefer something else?”

“That’s—It’s fine,” Keith murmured. “Just...surprised me, is all. Is that what we are?”

Shiro blinked down at Keith for a moment. Those gleaming violet eyes were currently fixed on the bandaged hands in his lap. Slowly Shiro reached out with his free hand and covered Keith’s interlocking fingers, squeezing gently and prompting Keith to look over at him.

“If you want,” he whispered. “I’d like that.”

A slow, shy smile curved Keith’s lips and Shiro felt his heart swoop in his chest. It was a special smile, one he didn’t wear often, and Shiro liked to think it was his and his alone. Foolish, maybe, and certainly selfish, but it was a comforting thought. A happy one.

“Me too,” Keith said. “I...I’d like that, too.”

Shiro grinned.

“You know what that means, though, don’t you?” he said, poking Keith in the ribs. The boy stiffened and swatted at the offending finger.

“What?” he asked, voice a little sharp.

“You _have_ to let me take care of you,” Shiro teased, poking him again.

“Wha—says who?” Keith demanded, eyes blazing.

“Says me,” Shiro answered easily. “It’s a boyfriend thing.”

Said as he descended on Keith, hands attacking his sides and drawing shouts and unwilling laughter. Keith writhed, trying to squirm away from Shiro’s tickling but unable to get far, incapacitated with laughter as he was. It was a nice sound, loud and full and not common coming from him. Laughing right along with him, Shiro moved to straddle his thighs, pinning him on the bed.

“Sh-Shiro!” Keith gasped, swatting ineffectually at him. “Oh my _god_ , knock—knock it _off_!”

However, he didn’t wait to see if Shiro would listen—he wouldn’t have, but it would’ve been nice to see a _little_ faith from Keith. Keith lunged forward, body slamming into an unprepared Shiro who could only tumble back, clear off the mattress to land with an anticlimactic “ _oof”_ on the floor. He didn’t get a chance to sit up, either, because Keith was suddenly pinning him there, knees pressed into his thighs and hands holding Shiro’s wrists above his head. Shiro just smiled and leaned up. Keith met him halfway for a brief kiss, then smirked and pulled away.

“You—are such—a dick sometimes,” Keith panted. “We’re having a serious moment—and then you start— _tickling me_? What the hell?”

Shiro laughed unashamedly.

“Well how else am I gonna get you to surrender?” he demanded.

Any answer Keith might’ve given was interrupted by the whirring of the bedroom door opening. The two of them froze and their heads whipped around to look at the newcomer.

“Uh…” Matt said, blinking down at their position on the floor. “I’m just gonna...yeah...later!”

“Matt!” Shiro yelled, but his roommate had already turned on his heel and strode from the room. Just before the door closed, he yelled back.

“Use protection!”

“Why that little…” Keith growled, then huffed and rolled off of Shiro to flop on his back. “Why do I put up with him again?”

“Because he’s my roommate,” Shiro chuckled.

“Right... And why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me.”

“ _Right_... God, I really must’ve scrambled my brain in that sim the other day.”

Shiro’s smile widened as he rolled onto his side to look at Keith, propping himself up on one elbow. Keith glanced from the ceiling to him and mirrored his movements. The space between them was minimal. Then, as Shiro leaned in and nosed at the underside of Keith’s jaw, it was nonexistent. The other boy sucked in a sharp breath, then reached up with the hand he wasn’t leaning on to card his fingers through Shiro’s dark hair, pushing back the fringe that tickled his ear and neck.

“I still don’t understand how you get away with this haircut,” Keith complained offhandedly as Shiro pressed soft, barely-there kisses along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. “This undercut is definitely not regulation.”

A shiver ran through Keith when Shiro’s chuckle ghosted across his collar.

“Being the class favorite has its perks,” Shiro said. “It also helps that I talk with the instructors outside of class.”

Keith snorted, fingernails scraping slightly against Shiro’s scalp and earning a quiet noise of approval. He smiled and did it again.

“What would you do with your hair if you didn’t have to cut it?” Shiro wondered, pausing in his ministrations to look Keith in the eye.

Thinking, Keith frowned. He shook his head and lifted one shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’d do anything,” he said truthfully. “Before the Garrison I’d just cut it up front to keep it out of my eyes. Otherwise the only attention it got was if one of my foster families decided it was too long.”

A frown creased Shiro’s brow. He lifted a hand to touch a lock of ebony hair and pinched it between his fingers.

“Huh,” he said distractedly. “I think I’d like to see that.”

“What? Me with long hair?” Keith wondered. Shiro nodded.

“I bet it looked good on you,” he said.

He brushed the piece of hair behind Keith’s ear, trailing his fingers along his cheek before moving to cradle his neck. Keith looked away again, the color in his cheeks darkening. Taking advantage of Keith’s embarrassment, Shiro leaned in to steal a quick kiss.

Keith responded instantaneously, hand slipping from his hair and catching the back of his neck to keep him in place. He smirked against Keith’s mouth at his eagerness, but Shiro was all too willing to let it continue; opening his mouth so that Keith could press deeper, allowing Keith to roll them over so that he was yet again hovering over Shiro, one hand at the base of his skull and the other at his shoulder. His fingers grasped at the stiff material of Shiro’s jacket, but Shiro had no problem sliding his hands under Keith’s to find purchase in his soft, well-worn undershirt. Above him, Keith shivered as Shiro wrapped his hands around the slender boy’s waist, fingertips just barely brushing the skin that peeked out from the hem.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured when Keith caught his lower lip between his teeth. “H-hold on, Matt—”

“Already knows,” Keith reminded him. He leaned back, a devilish glint in his eyes and a wicked curve to his mouth. Shiro thought idly that no amount of school could have prepared him for a smile that cut sharper and cleaner than a blade. “What? Am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend just because Matt might show up?”

Shiro stared at him. Then he erupted into laughter and jerked Keith down so that he collapsed on his chest and lashed his arms completely around the boy’s middle.

“You little shit,” Shiro snorted into Keith’s hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me one day.”

Keith just laughed alongside him, and when Matt finally risked returning that was how he found them. Wrapped up in each other and crying from mirth, and he just shook his head and chucked one of his shoes at the pair of them, accusing them of giving him cavities.

When Keith left the room, Shiro watched him go, feeling simultaneously lighter and heavier than when he’d been treating Keith’s wounds. Keith might not have told him what the fight had been about, but he was pretty sure he’d heard enough shouting to guess.

“I take it he’s not mad at you anymore?” Matt wondered from his bed once they had settled in to sleep.

Shiro sighed.

“No, I think he is,” he said honestly. “But he’s not the type that’ll try and guilt me into stepping down from the mission.”

“You two are gross,” Matt said matter-of-factly. Shiro gave a weak chuckle, and he continued. “But I’m happy for you. Both of you. It’s nice when someone cares enough to hate when you leave.”

“Yeah…”

“C’mon, dude, cheer up! We’re leaving in two days! This is exciting stuff.”

“I know, I know,” Shiro said. “I just...I feel bad. He doesn’t exactly have anybody. We just got together, and now I’m leaving for a _year_.”

Matt groaned loudly and flung his one pillow at Shiro’s head.

“I’ll never forgive you if you back out,” he threatened.

“I know,” Shiro smirked. “I don’t think he would either.”

“I’m sure he’s proud of you,” Matt said, voice gentling. “He seems like the kind of guy that’s bad at expressing those kinds of things, but I bet he’s really proud.”

Shiro smiled up at the ceiling. His eyes stung, but he stubbornly tried to blink away the moisture collecting on his lashes. This wasn’t the time for tears.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “You’re probably right.”

“Imagine, Shiro,” Matt said wistfully. “In two days, we’ll be on our way to Kerberos.”

“It’s exciting stuff,” he agreed. “Go to sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt scoffed. Then: “Can I have my pillow back?”

“Oh, you mean this one?” Shiro said, lifting the projectile into the air.

“No, the other one,” Matt deadpanned.

Shiro chucked it back at him hard enough to earn a yelp. Grumbling, Matt repositioned himself for sleep, and Shiro followed suit with a smile.

It’d be a long year without Keith, but at least he had something he loved waiting for him to return. With that knowledge and the knowledge that that something loved him just as much, Shiro drifted off into a dreamless sleep, lips still curved in a slight smile.


End file.
